


Patience

by Scarylady



Series: Secret Service [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:17:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarylady/pseuds/Scarylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of the Secret Service series:<br/>After the Blight, Aedan and Zev set up home in Vigil's Keep and gave the place quite a reputation.  And not always in a good way. For additional kicks, they toddle to Denerim every six months and hold extremely discreet parties.  Five years on, an invitation to one of those events is sat on King Alistair's desk...</p><p>Contains slash, D/s, spank and descriptions of an orgy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

  
The dreamy expression on Aedan’s face was not new to Zevran.

“My Warden, with an entire bounteous world of men and women at our disposal, why must you lust after the _one_ man we can’t have, hmm?”

Aedan sighed mournfully, one hand propping up his chin, sprawled half-in half-out of the tent with Zev at his side. His eyes were firmly fixed on the warrior doing warm-up exercises at the other side of camp, smooth muscle sliding under golden skin in the light of the spring morning.

“But he’s sooo pretty.” His tone was that of a child denied a treat, quite unlike his usual way of speaking. He grinned at his lover, failing to produce a convincing petulant pout. He continued in his normal deep rasp, “ _And_ , he’s not getting any. It’s a parlous state of affairs to leave your best friend in, right?”

“You know the rule, _mio amore_.”

“I know, I know.” 

The rule. 

They only had one: “ _We shall not seduce anyone who expects more from us than sex_.” 

Unfortunately, even if they could overcome Alistair’s Chantry-bred fear of same-sex relations - and Aedan was convinced that, if anyone could, then he and Zev were the men for the job - the rule made his fellow Warden, and closest friend, unobtainable. Hurting Alistair was definitely not an acceptable option.

“Patience, my Warden. Life is long, and one never knows what might happen, yes?”

 _  
-oOo-   
_

However much he buried himself in other correspondence, the invitation kept drawing Alistair’s eyes.

He’d tried hiding it at the bottom of a heap of letters.

He’d even thrown it in the bin at one point.

And yet, here it was again.

 _You are cordially invited to set aside all cares for the evening at Aedan and Zev’s bi-annual celebration of life and pleasure._

 _Discretion assured._

It was ridiculous; they’d sent him one of these twice a year for the last five years and he’d never even considered going before _. Liar_ , _you’ve thought about it every time_. Well, thought about it, maybe… briefly… or even extensively, in private darkness. But he’d never before considered actually _attending_. 

Yes well, that was before his Queen got pregnant and shut the door on him. There were plenty of women at Court who had made it clear they would be happy to step into the breach, and no-one would so much as blink if the King mounted a mistress… But after five years on the throne, Alistair knew full well that it wasn’t that simple. The King’s mistress was a position of power in its own right, and he baulked at giving that power to one of the vultures who flocked around him just in order to satisfy his needs. And anyway, there were needs… and _needs_. That rectangle of stiff paper offered the possibility that once, maybe just _once_ …

No, absolutely not. 

He threw it in the bin again.

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Their guest list was a masterwork, the product of years of joyous experimentation. The Warden Commander and his Antivan assassin were a scandal that never grew old; whispers of their perverted practices, their skilful seductions, and their private parties kept the gossip-mongers titillated year on year. But the one thing that the grapevine was never able to establish, despite heroic efforts, was who attended those parties.

In order to receive one of those coveted invitations, one must not only be open-minded, but also _discreet_. The attendees came from all backgrounds and races. Cards were as likely to be received in the alienage as in a castle. There was only one exception, one invitation to a novice that Aedan stubbornly sent, despite his lover’s exasperated sighs. It hardly mattered; he never came.

Except that, masks only provided so much anonymity, and there was no mistaking who had just entered the antechamber where the aberrant twosome greeted their arriving guests. No mistaking that tall, broad frame, that red-gold hair, that Theirin _nose_. Aedan clutched at Zev’s hand, in a way that would have made a less dextrous man drop his drink. “Ha! I _told_ you he’d come one day.”

Zevran remained armoured in cynicism. “Curb your excitement,  _mio amore_. It is most likely he is interested only in the ladies.”

Aedan snorted contemptuously, threading through the throng towards the object of his patient desire. “He’s at an orgy, Zev. You know what that means, right? It means that tonight, the rule no longer applies. If we can’t snag him under those circumstances, we don’t deserve him. If that’s the case, I’ll happily bury him in compliant women.”

“And watch him die of happiness, no doubt,” murmured his irrepressible lover.

“Well, of course I’d _watch_ ; that goes without saying…”

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Walking into the room had taken all the courage he had and, even now, he was in distinct danger of bolting. The mask was a comforting presence across his face; it seemed unlikely that a strip of silk and velvet could protect his identity, but it helped, it definitely helped. The fact that everyone in this room was fully dressed helped, too. He’d had a horrifying fear of having to strip on arrival, and enter the room naked. Apart from the masks, this didn’t look any different than any other evening soiree. Alistair tried not to admit that this was a tad disappointing.

His hosts, heading towards him with beaming smiles, were unashamedly unmasked. Of course, masking the hosts would be silly, right? Everyone knew they were there, and in view of the unending gossip about their antics, they could hardly fear for their reputations. Alistair hid his burning face in the drink he’d just bagged from a passing tray. Just _thinking_ about some of the things that had been attributed to these two made him blush.

“My dear friend, I’m so glad you could make it.” Aedan shook his hand firmly, a comforting anchor of normality and, possibly, the only man in the room who was even bigger than Alistair.

“And I also; it is good to see you again.” Zevran was, well, Zev; graceful, composed, and perfectly at home in any surroundings. Maker, how he’d always envied the Antivan for that.

“I… um… have to confess, I wasn’t sure I was going to come, I mean, you know, this is… er...” _a long way out of my depth_. “Maker, I’m babbling, right? Sorry.” Alistair took refuge in his drink again.

Aedan clapped him on the back, “Don’t worry, it’s fine. Zev, why don’t you get the rest of the guests through into the next rooms? Let me know when it’s clear, and until then we two can have a drink, and catch up on some news.” Aedan led the blushing King to a quiet alcove with comfortable seats, while Zev began circulating the news that the disrobing rooms were now open.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Unlike his exuberant Warden, Zevran had reservations about the arrival of their former comrade. The guest list for these gatherings was very select; Alistair may have been married for several years, but was an utter novice in such an environment and, if there had seemed to be any real possibility of him accepting the invitation, it probably should never have been sent. Zev had no intention of spoiling either Alistair’s or Aedan’s pleasure, but their charming and naïve King could not be allowed to blunder around, blushing and apologising, and making the regular guests uncomfortable.

So, ensuring that the rest of the guests were disrobed, and encouraged to pursue their favourite pastimes in the various rooms, _before_ unleashing the beginner seemed an eminently practical move, and one of which he wholly approved.

Only once he was satisfied that everyone was settled and happy, and that the servants could usher through any late-comers to the party, did Zev return to tip Aedan the wink. Time to find out what Alistair actually wanted from this evening.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Disrobing hadn’t been a problem; the room was empty, and he’d been given a silk dressing-robe to wear once his clothes were removed. Then there were the corridors, and the various rooms, and the _sounds_ …

Aedan and Zev, wearing robes of their own, led him slowly past room after room, some with doors open, some with windows, or even peepholes. Watching was apparently considered just as enjoyable an option as participating. Other rooms were shut tight; his hosts informed him that some groups preferred to be left in peace for a while, and that was fine too. In the open rooms they passed, bodies twined and gasped, in two’s, three’s and more, much more. The dim light of shrouded lanterns was reassuring, keeping the masked faces anonymous while glinting on sweat and oiled skin. It was all very… stirring, and Alistair could feel Zev’s eyes on him, assessing his reactions. But he wanted to see what else was happening. There was a sound, just on the edge of his hearing, that suggested something much more intriguing was occurring in later rooms.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Very little could surprise Zevran, but the raging colour in Alistair’s face, and the unmistakeable gleam in his eye, when they heard the crack of leather against skin in the adjacent room, certainly made him raise an eyebrow. Well, who would have thought it? And yet it made perfect sense for a Chantry-bred boy.

“You find this interesting?” Zev kept the question casual, undemanding. There was still an element of startled hare about their unexpected guest. One wrong word and he may yet flee.

“Um… er… well.” Alistair bit his lip, and dared catch the eye of his questioner only briefly. He nodded and immediately looked away.

“Really? That’s great.” Aedan’s response was suitably enthusiastic, designed to settle embarrassment, but the look he exchanged with Zev spoke volumes. There was _no way_ they could introduce this novice into that room, whichever role he preferred. Alistair would have to be eased into this kind of play gently. 

Before anything else, there was one thing that needed to be ascertained. “My friend, is it your desire to watch the play, or to participate.” If it was the former, then they could settle him here for a while, get him properly aroused, and then scoop him up for other games later. Otherwise, it would be necessary to make moves on him a little earlier, and less subtly, than Zev would ideally like. 

Getting an answer from him was proving tricky enough, though. Admitting his desires seemed to be proving a problem for the repressed young man, although every sound from within was having a marked effect upon him. It was possible Alistair was not even aware of the subtle movement of his hips at each _crack_ on flesh, but at this point Zev would have been willing to put money on him being not only a participant, but a receiver.

Rather than push for an answer, the Antivan decided to go with his instincts. “Alistair, your desires are good ones, which can provide much pleasure. But those who indulge in such practices learn carefully, so that they do not truly hurt each other. An open environment such as this, “he waved his hand at the room they were observing, at the bodies bent over a high padded bench, the paddles of leather and wood being plied vigorously, “is for the experienced, who know their limits.”

Aedan nodded. “Not only that, but most importantly, you have to trust the people you are with, especially at first.” His hand ran over his friend’s short red-gold hair, “you trust _us_ though, don’t you?”

The head he was stroking swung around; incredulous shock causing hazel eyes to meet his for the first time since they’d started this conversation. “You?”

Laughter rumbled in Aedan’s chest. “Of course. Next to Zev, you’re my best friend in the whole damned world. I want you to be happy, and I’d never do anything you didn’t want. You’d be safe in our hands; we know what we’re doing.”

Zev held his breath, watching hazel eyes stare into dark-brown. His Aedan had wanted this for a long time, and-

“Yes.” The swift affirmative was wholly unexpected, catching them both off-guard. Alistair’s jaw was set, determined. “Find a room, before I lose my nerve.”

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

The room they led him into was comfortable and private and the door was locked behind him. This reassured, rather than scared him. Being walked in on, or watched, would be simply excruciating. It also meant that he could remove his mask, but when Alistair’s hand reached for it, Zev’s closed over his wrist. “No, leave it on for now.”

“Oh? Why?”

The assassin smiled enigmatically. “Here is your first lesson for the evening, _caro mio_. You do not ask; you simply do as you are told. I imagine it will be refreshing for you, given your circumstances.”

Alistair swallowed a sudden lump in his throat and nodded. Now that he’d committed to this, butterflies were jumping in his stomach, but lower down, behind his balls, there was heat and tension. When he arrived, he hadn’t imagined agreeing to spend the evening with men, but Aedan was absolutely right, this was about trust. In any other company, those butterflies would have had him scrabbling at the lock on the door already.

For the moment, at least, the Antivan appeared to be in charge. Aedan was sprawled on the bed watching, while Zevran prowled in a circle around Alistair. 

“First of all, we would like to admire your beauty. Remove your robe.”

Alistair told himself that this was nothing, that they had all seen each other’s bodies back when they were roughing it in the wild. But here, in these plush surroundings, with two pairs of curious eyes avidly fixed on him, it took actual effort to undo the silk tie and allow the robe to slip from his shoulders. It was immediately whisked away by Zevran, leaving him naked, standing in the middle of the room, and feeling very vulnerable as the only one unclothed. 

There was an appreciative rumble from the man on the bed, while the gleam in Zevran’s eye mirrored the sentiment. Having only spent time in the company of a woman who saw sex as a duty, being so openly admired was a new sensation for Alistair, one that made him glow and preen a little. Just a little, but it felt good.

“You’re gorgeous, _caro mio_. Hold your head up,” Zevran’s hand tilted his chin just so. “It is not necessary to look at the floor. Be proud of who and what you are, yes? That is good.” The assassin circled behind him and trailed a finger down his spine. “You are ours tonight, you understand? And we hope that this will bring you joy in many ways. If it does not, if you find that you cannot bear what occurs, then we must know. But you may find pleasure in begging us to stop when you still wish us to continue. And that gratification must also be permitted to find expression.” The finger trailed back up to the soft nape of Alistair’s neck and swept across a broad shoulder. “So, tell me a word, something that you would never say in the throes of sexual pleasure. And if you say that word, then everything ends immediately, and we shall clothe ourselves and drink together, yes?”

Being touched so gently was making it hard to concentrate, but Alistair had the general gist. There was a moment of silence while he wrestled with finding a word. It should be such a simple thing, to think of a word, why was his mind suddenly blank? Oh, of course, what else, with these two here.   “Blight.”

There was a chuckle from the bed. “A Warden to the end.” Alistair turned his head slightly and Aedan winked at him. He unfolded his tall frame from the bed, strolling over to where Alistair stood. “May I touch him, _padrone_?” he asked the bronzed elf, who was still trailing fingers over golden skin.

At Alistair’s look of confusion, Aedan explained. “For the moment, Zevran is in charge of you. He is the _padrone_ , the master. It is up to him what is, and what is not, permitted.”

“You may touch his skin as it pleases you, but I do not wish him pleasured more directly at this time.” Alistair had never heard Zevran like this, it was a tone that took you by the spine and pulled a response, a quiet tone that nevertheless held all the command of a battlefield roar. Now two pairs of hands roamed over his skin, and he was sandwiched between the two men, although neither of them was so close as to touch him other than with their hands.

With Aedan standing so close, Alistair wanted to close his eyes, to retreat from such scrutiny, but he recalled what Zev had said.  _Hold your head up, be proud_. And so, he held the gaze of his friend, while permitting his touch. In that moment of revelation his nerve endings came alive, and every slide and scrape of fingers and palms on his body was excruciatingly wonderful. His breath hissed between his teeth and he struggled to keep still.

“Beautiful, that is very good, well done, _caro mio_.” The compliments seemed unbearably meaningful, filling him with pride.  There was a wonder to all of this; to simply permitting, obeying.

Hands from behind him carefully removed the mask from his face. Alistair had forgotten about it, no longer concerned with the protection it provided.   To be looked at, admired, there was nothing to be feared from this any longer. It thrilled him to have taken even such a small step.

In addition to the hands scorching fire over his skin, a hot, wet tongue slid over his nape, raising all the hairs there. Alistair’s eyes shut without conscious volition, and he opened them again to Aedan’s approving smile. The mouth trailing heat over his back murmured against his skin, “You may kiss him, if you wish, Aedan.”

There was barely time for the nerves to rise again, _to be kissed by a man_ , before Aedan’s lips touched his. It truly was just a touch, a brush, from corner to corner and back, light and teasing. Alistair’s mouth opened slightly, unconsciously inviting more. In response there was the gentle stroke of a tongue, merely passing along his lips, making no attempt to plunder. All the time, hands and another mouth moved over his skin, Aedan’s hands now settling on his jaw before sweeping up into his hair, drawing him forward into a proper kiss.

Alistair was suddenly, shockingly, aware of the male body adjacent to his, the silk of Aedan’s robe a second skin between them. Although they were kissing, they were not pressed together; Aedan was still keeping his distance. The feel of the soft robe was a tease against him, sometimes rubbing, sometimes brushing, and sometimes not touching at all. 

Alistair instinctively wanted to chase the sensation, but the instant he tried, he felt Zev’s hands close on his hips, holding him in place. It seemed the _padrone_ would not permit it, and he did his best to submit, leaning into the kiss without fighting the restraint. His reward was for those hands to make soothing circles on his hips, and there was a murmur of approval from behind him, causing a stronger flare of heat in his groin than the contact had offered.

 “You are a natural,  _bell'uomo mio_. Your desire to please is utterly gorgeous.” The strong slender fingers slid up from his hips, over the muscles of his back and threaded into his hair. “Come, as a reward, I shall offer you a little, just a little, of what you desire most.” Aedan immediately broke the kiss, stepping away and returning to his perch on the bed, and the fingers in Alistair’s hair tightened, not to hurt, but to control. 

He was inexorably led to the edge of the bed, where Aedan seized his wrists and pulled them down so that his hands lay flat on the mattress, holding them there. In the instant that Aedan became his human restraint, Zevran’s fingers released his hair and for the first time Alistair felt the air behind him move freely as the assassin withdrew. In this position, bent over, held, and with no knowledge of what was occurring behind him, the butterflies once again took up residence, but they were fighting a losing battle against the tightening of his groin.  _What you desire most._  Alistair’s skin was a living thing, every nerve-ending screaming for attention. His hands were trembling, and Aedan’s sword-calloused thumbs rubbed them comfortingly, reminding him to trust.

The tension was unbearable. When a hand slid gently over the curve of his right buttock, Alistair almost cried out, the noise catching in his throat, and the next few breaths quivered in his chest. Waiting was intolerable, he had no idea how long it had been, but every moment felt like an eternity.

“Do not be afraid, _mio dolce_.” The gentle voice behind him trickled like warm honey, “I shall heat your skin a little, no more.”

 When Zevran’s hand smacked down, the sharp, sudden contact of flesh on flesh was both an enormous relief and a great shock. There was a small pause, long enough for his skin to tingle and respond before the next slap landed on the other side. One more on each side, and the assassin’s hand stroked over the stinging skin soothingly. This was repeated; four slaps, each one raising the heat a little further and then the same palm as a gentle kindness. Alistair was torn between struggling to cope with it, and soaking it up like a sponge. Fantasies weren’t like this; in the dark privacy of his room and his mind there was the yearning need, but not the smarting skin. There was the burning heat in his groin, but not the continuous struggle to accept, to submit. Reality was more difficult, but so much _better_.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Zevran was incredibly impressed.

Who would have thought that innocent, Chantry-bred, Alistair was capable of such sweet submission? He was proving capable of a myriad of subtle acceptances, his struggle visible only to an experienced eye. As his hand smacked down on tender flesh, Zevran drank in the instinctive responses; the little flinches, followed by the curving of the spine to lift the tight muscular bottom higher; the tiny whimpers that spoke more of need than pain. 

His eyes met Aedan’s over the stretched out body and the thrown-back head; the heat in the dark eyes of his lover matched his own.  _Cuore sacro di’Andraste_ , but they wanted this man. Alistair’s physical beauty was magnified tenfold by the raw sensuality he was exuding in the fulfilment of his deepest desires. There was so much more Zevran wished to teach, but he must be mindful of the limits of such a new-born talent.

He brought his hand to rest on the hot cheek, accepting the slight press back against his palm, the silent physical begging for more, but offering nothing further. He held it there until the movement ceased, the splendid rosy rump dropping slightly, accepting his decision. Only then did he withdraw from the contact. Aedan, knelt on the bed still holding Alistair’s wrists, was murmuring to him, praising him for his courage, his beauty. 

Zevran wound his fingers into the short red-gold hair, and Aedan released his restraining grip immediately. He felt a familiar surge of gratitude for his handsome reprobate, his laughing, vibrant, unbridled lover, the other half of his heart and soul. No-one else had ever, could ever, offer him a fraction of this gift; to be able to enjoy others, together or separate, to plunder sensual treasure like a pair of pirates.

It was time for a little treat for both of his boys.

“You did well,  _caro mio_ , I am very pleased.” There was no need to haul Alistair up by his hair, the merest pressure created a reaction, his sensitivity was a delight. At the bidding of that controlling hand he stood tall again, and with his spare hand Zevran rubbed circles at the base of the muscular back, easing any tension from the bent position.   There was no longer a requirement to control him for the moment. Zevran slid his hand from hair over strong throat and smooth chest, and allowed it to trail further, hearing Alistair’s strangled gasp as he slowly slid over hot, hard flesh before withdrawing. “You deserve a reward for your endurance, as does Aedan for his patience and assistance. I shall permit him to give you a little suck, I think.” 

“As you will, _padrone_.” Aedan slid forward to the edge of the bed, seating himself directly in front of Alistair, looking up into his eyes, while Zevran for the first time moved around to see Alistair’s face. The expression of their beautiful student was exquisite; a mixture of repressed need and Chantry-taught fear, while his body sang a song of its own, minute movements that offered his erection to that waiting mouth.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Desire and doubt warred in Alistair; this was an experience he had never had, his wife only being interested in creating an heir for Ferelden, and he couldn’t deny how enticing the prospect was. But this was a _man_ , his oldest friend no less, surely it couldn’t be right.  A more cynical part of his mind, the part that had been ruling a country for five years, pointed out that this was hardly worse than baring your arse to be tanned by an Antivan assassin. His libido decided that this bit of mind was its best friend, and together they ganged up on the horrified Chantry-boy and squashed him flat. All this in the moment before Aedan’s tongue flicked out and touched his cock, and he was lost.

Although Zevran had said that he was permitted a little suck, what Aedan offered was a series of frustratingly teasing licks. His tongue swiped and swirled over Alistair’s cock like a particularly delicious candycane, and when he did finally clamp his mouth to the straining flesh it was to the side of the shaft, allowing only his tongue to occasionally encompass the head. The sensation was glorious, but it appeared that release was not immediately on the agenda, and no amount of physical begging, of thrusts, or groans, or soft cries moved his inexorable tormentor to offer more. After a time, Aedan moved his mouth down to Alistair’s balls, licking and sucking these with evident enjoyment, his tongue sliding to rub behind them.

“Keep your eyes open, _caro mio_ , it is my wish that you observe.” Alistair hadn’t even been aware that his eyes had slid closed until Zevran’s soft voice admonished him. He obediently looked down, seeing the abandon with which Aedan offered his mouth; the dark eyes, startling against pale skin and blond hair, fixed on his, the usual merry twinkle lurking in their depths. There was triumph there too, at every reaction he pulled from his friend, a power that had nothing to do with domination.

“I think that is enough for now.” The soft mouth was immediately withdrawn, leaving Alistair panting and bereft, raging with desire. The Antivan moved to his side, again stroking a hand down his back, soothing him as one would a skittish horse. “Tell me, Alistair, what do you desire?”

It seemed forever since he’d had a choice; since he’d last been expected even to speak. He moistened his lips. “I-” What _did_ he desire?  _For this night to last forever? To have done this several years ago, when it was first offered?_ Stupid, self-righteous boy he’d been; horrified at Aedan’s overt sexuality, at the way he’d seduced Morrigan and Leliana both and then, when they both screamed like fishwives at the Warden to choose between them, he’d run to Zevran’s undemanding arms instead. Alistair had turned his nose up at Aedan and Zev’s unselfconscious antics, scurried away from their interested glances. Tried to ignore his body’s reaction on those nights when the slap of a hand or belt rang through camp. But now? He truly couldn’t think what to say. It seemed everything that was offered to him here brought pleasure; there was no need to choose.

“Aedan, what do _you_ desire?” The hand was still stroking over his back, but Zevran’s attention was on his lover, his partner, seated on the bed.

Aedan’s deep voice was firm and unhesitating. “I wish to pleasure you, _padrone_. I would like us both to pleasure you.”

To… _oh_. The butterflies were back again.

Zevran cocked his head, considering, and nodded. There was a noticeable shift between the long-term lovers. Aedan, who had previously taken actions only when verbally permitted to do so, grinned and leapt to his feet.  He slipped behind his elven assassin and wrapped his arms around him, reaching for the ties of his robe. As the silk slithered from Zevran’s body, it was clear just how much he’d been enjoying their games, his cock jutting out proudly.

This came as rather a shock to Alistair. He’d become accustomed to being naked, to being observed and admired. To see another male body, particularly in such a state of arousal brought colour to his face. Aedan flung aside the unwanted robe and moved round to Zevran’s side, using one hand to draw his friend forward. “Don’t be shy, Alistair. Isn’t he beautiful?”

It was an undeniable fact; he was. Compared to the two humans, huge and muscular men, he was petite, slender and graceful. The effect was enhanced by the tattoos that swirled in elegant designs around his torso, but nothing could hide the taut muscle under the bronzed skin, the lithe balance and indefinable air of menace that even now hung about him. Naked he may be, but no more vulnerable now than when clothed. 

The insistent hand holding his drew him forward further still, but Alistair felt an indefinable reluctance. He had been touched at the will of this man all evening, but had not been permitted to touch in return, and now…

Zevran saw his hesitation and amber eyes searched hazel ones, a slight crease between his brows. He spoke softly, “You have a word,  _caro mio_ , do you wish to speak it?”

“What? No!” Alistair was dumbfounded, shaking his head. “No, it’s just…” he swallowed, feeling stupid, “you’re- I’m-” He tried again, “May I?”

Zevran’s brow cleared. “Ah, you truly are a natural. You may touch as you wish.” His smile was radiant, and Aedan’s deep chuckle drew an answering smile from Alistair. Again the hand sought to draw his forward, to guide it and this time he did not resist. Nerves fluttered in his belly at the idea of caressing a man, but Aedan’s hand was only drawing his to Zevran’s face, to a cheek that was almost as soft as a woman’s, with no bristle at all. Alistair rubbed his thumb over a sharp cheekbone and followed the sinuous line of his tattoo, wondering how many others had done the same.

Aedan slipped behind his lover, sandwiching his slender frame between them. He swept his hands down muscled arms and dipped his head to the back of Zevran’s neck. “Kiss him, Alistair,” he said, “the _padrone_ wants to feel your lips on his.”

There was a distinct difference between kissing another man and being kissed by one, between active and passive, but that generous mouth was being lifted to his, and dipping his head to meet it did not feel terribly difficult. 

The sensory impact of doing so nearly blew Alistair’s mind. When Aedan had kissed him, even when the other man had sucked him, Alistair had been passive, untouched other than by hands and mouth, the only one unclothed. Zevran kissed him with an expert thoroughness that allowed no holding back, and that lithe body pressed against his with utter abandon. The difference was shocking; Alistair was permitted no distance, no remoteness, he was plundered thoroughly, and his hands began to roam of their own will, finding soft skin to stroke. His mouth was filled with the taste of the Antivan, every breath brought sandalwood, cinnamon and a spicy scent that was just pure Zevran.  _Maker, how did I never notice this before?_

Alistair was dimly aware that Aedan was licking his lover’s ear from lobe to tip, his hands also roaming over bronzed skin. The three of them were pressed so closely together that their touch overlapped to each other’s bodies. Somewhere along the line Aedan had lost the robe, so all three men were now nude. 

When Zevran’s mouth released him, Alistair didn’t even hesitate, dropping his head to the elf’s throat, running his tongue from jaw to ear, nibbling down his throat while Aedan mirrored him on the other side. Alistair could feel his erection pressing against the assassin’s hip and a hard heat stroking on his thigh.  To touch and be touched unreservedly, after being controlled with such gentle care, was indescribable; a soaring, unshackled freedom that made him dizzy.

Zevran hummed deep in his throat; head high, neck bared, languid as a cat under all the attention. “Allow me to lie down, my lovers, so that I may enjoy this even more.” His accent had thickened, honey laced with syrup, dripping with unleashed sensuality.

The two big humans straightened, their eyes meeting over his head and grinned with boyish mischief. Alistair gestured, and Aedan nodded. “Your desire is our command, _padrone_.” Alistair’s voice dragged over the honorific in a deep sensual register that made Zevran squirm happily, and brought hunger to Aedan’s dark eyes. Making them react so made his own desire burn hotter.

The elf was hoisted between them, carried over to the bed and draped upon it with a certain amount of ceremony. Zevran stretched with dreamy, languorous grace and held out his arms, inviting them to take up a position on each side of him.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

The sensation of two mouths roaming over his skin, two beautiful bodies pressed at his sides was a gratification that never failed to please. Zevran revelled in the attention, allowing his eyes to close, enjoying the slide of silken lips and hot tongues over his chest and stomach. He was aware that Alistair, in his inexperience, was mirroring Aedan, and he had no doubt that his wondrous Warden lover would take advantage of that fact. After all, if their positions were reversed, he would himself.

This meant that the swirl of tongue and nibble of teeth on his nipples was heightened three-fourfold as each action was copied, and he arched into it, delighting in the increase of sensitivity caused by this duality. When one mouth moved to trail down his ribs, the other followed and he smiled in anticipation. There was a marvellous inevitability to this, and while the attentions of his lovers teased him, the expectation teased more.

As lips kissed over each hipbone Zevran hummed his pleasure, encouraging them. Soon there would be a hesitation from their gorgeous novice and, although he had every faith in his Aedan, he knew the approval of the _padrone_ would tip the balance. He remembered his own training well enough. He ran his hands over the bent backs of both his boys, where they crouched beside him, soothing with palms and dragging gently with nails, feeling them arch under his hands. Oh, this was glorious, and he was so _happy_ for his Warden, to be fulfilling such a long-held desire.

 _There_. As dual mouths slid from hips in a diagonal line towards a central point, there was the hesitation, as expected. Zevran held still, opening his eyes a little, watching the show. Aedan was smiling at Alistair across hard flesh, a quirk of mischief at the corner of his mouth. As the Antivan watched, his Warden reached a hand across, grasping that square jaw and drawing Alistair in for a kiss. The angle he chose turned their bodies; no longer crouched they now lay full length, their heads resting on his hips, their muscular thighs sliding under his hands, their deep kiss moving slowly, teasingly, closer to his cock. Zevran slid a hand to each man’s erection, offering a teasing touch, a trail of fingers, a promise for later.

Ah, the glory of it; the moment when their kiss engulfed him. Aedan’s hands holding Alistair’s face gently, drawing him past his embedded fears to a new confidence, and realisation of a new pleasure. Twining tongues battled over his tip, the sensation exquisite. If they did this with a thousand lovers, it would never grow old. 

“ _I miei amanti_ , you are both so beautiful, and you feel _fantastico_ …” Zevran shared his joy, pouring out his bliss in a broken mix of Antivan and Ferelden, pushing his lovers to new efforts. They rubbed their mouths up and down his shaft together, kissing deeply over the tip. There were fingers pulling at the base of his shaft, nails scraping gently at his balls. He couldn’t last like this, he was overwhelmed by them, heat and tongues and _sharing_ , it was too much. His encouragement broke down into groans, and finally a wild cry of pure pleasure, as sensation ripped through him. Zevran couldn’t even say who swallowed down the hot spurt, perhaps they shared that too. His mind had fled, drowned in the ecstasy of being desired, enjoyed, by two such marvellous men.

Swimming back to reality, Zevran was aware that Aedan and Alistair were drawing their kiss to a close, turning to him. They were rock-hard, breath coming in sharp pants, eyes almost black with need. His hands closed around twin shafts, and groans exploded from both of them. The assassin shook off the foggy remnants of his climax, years of training coming to his aid. Although he _could_ relax and allow them to pleasure each other, he had a different idea, one that was _favoloso_.

“On your knees, my fine lovers, opposite each other, like so.  _Buono_. Now, explore each other, enjoy, while I taste you both.” Their positioning, knelt up facing each other on the bed, was perfect. Provided they did not press together too much, there was room to get his head between them, and as they were more or less of a height, their cocks rubbed together, allowing Zevran to lick and suck as he pleased. They were both pleasingly thick, with fine bulbous heads, and he began gently, teasingly; passing his tongue between them, hearing them gasp as they kissed each other’s throats and chests, as their hands grasped at each other’s shoulders to steady their balance.

This would be a challenge such as the Antivan had never had the opportunity to enjoy; to encompass them both, to draw out pleasure for both, and to use his skills to try to bring their climax as closely together as possible. He was afire with the possibilities, gently holding them together into one column with his hands, drawing his mouth down the side of the join between them, breathing the mixed scents of their desire. 

This would not be easy; now that he had drawn them together the space between them was slim, although a little wider higher up in the dip between muscular stomachs and broad deep chests. Zevran plunged his head down through that gap, lapping at the twin tips before carefully taking both heads in his mouth. His head was held between two strong stomachs; through the bodies pressed to his ears he heard Alistair’s whimper and Aedan’s deep rumble. Their pleasure would be superb, he was sure, a combination of a hot silken mouth and the friction of another’s hard flesh. He rolled his hands slightly on their shafts, moving them against each other, and heard their gasps. 

Their flesh filled his mouth, stretching him; he delicately twined his tongue around them, between them. They couldn’t thrust, however much they wanted to; his head between them made it impossible and that knowledge gave him confidence to slide down a little further, to take a little more. A great deal of the work would have to be done with his hands, to bring them in line with each other, to match their pace. Pressure here, a rub there and he began to feel the surges and stiffening in each cock, as he relaxed his mouth and throat and took another inch, carefully rubbed his tongue along them. Aedan and Alistair’s responses were muffled; they must be kissing fiercely, swallowing each other’s groans. Zevran wanted to bring more of those sounds, to make them wild with pleasure. With great care he began to suck.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Never in his most secret dreams had Alistair imagined anything like this. Aedan had a firm grip on his shoulders or he would surely have sagged by now, his legs giving out under him. The sheer level of sensation was mind-blowing; the moist heat, the dragging tongue, the press of hot, throbbing flesh against his. He could feel the pulse of a vein in his cock, and was unable to even be certain whether it was his or Aedan’s. 

Self-consciousness and fear were long flown; there was no possibility of that any longer, not since the moment when _that kiss_ had drawn Zevran’s erection between their joined mouths. If six other people broke the door down now and tried to join in, Alistair was certain he wouldn’t even blink. 

Aedan’s fingers dug into his biceps, controlling him, holding him in a deep kiss that was taking his breath away. The incredible feelings in his groin were drawing uncontrollable noises from him, muffled by Aedan’s mouth clamped hard over his. There was a drawing sensation down in that wet heat, pressure, suction, _oh Maker_ , he couldn’t stand this for long. Skilful fingers pressed, and the urgency retreated slightly. 

Alistair had one hand in the curve of Aedan’s back, with the other he reached down and found Zevran’s silken hair and busy head between them. Carefully he stroked the soft hair, wishing to show appreciation, and he felt a chuckle shoot through his erection. Sweet Andraste, how could he, with all that in his mouth? The mere thought of what Zevran was encompassing caused another surge through him, and at the same moment a deep rumbling groan came from Aedan. Alistair felt himself stiffen and swell and, _Holy Maker_ , he wasn’t the only one. Zevran’s head stilled; his tongue remained busy, and his hands tightened around them expertly, rubbing and drawing on their shafts.

 Their kiss broke. They couldn’t, just _couldn’t_ , do it any longer; it required more concentration that either of them had. The two men clung together, panting and whimpering, their heads on each other’s shoulders as… as…

The cry that broke from Alistair felt like the pent-up release of a lifetime, and a fraction later he felt Aedan’s cock pump against his, and a rasping snarl erupted against his throat. By what seemed a miracle, they didn’t choke the life from their benefactor and, realising that his fingers had tightened in soft blond hair, Alistair forced his hand to relax, as he twitched and trembled to a standstill, clinging weakly to Aedan. 

The clever mouth slowly withdrew from them, and Aedan’s trembling hand joined his on the blond head. “You surpassed yourself, my Zevran,” Aedan’s voice was a deep, weary rumble that brought an insufferably smug smile to the assassin’s face.

“I aim to please, my Warden.”

“And as for you…” Aedan turned to Alistair and gave him a fierce, hard kiss, “you, my friend, are the bravest, best, _sexiest_ man alive right now, and I am so proud of you. I cannot believe how far you’ve come tonight.”

“And I agree.” Zevran pulled them down into a happy, spent pile on the bed. He stroked his hand through short, red-gold hair, while Alistair felt the expected blush spread up his face at the praise.  _Oh well, back to normal again, it seems._

 _“_ I can’t believe what we’ve just done. All of it. I mean… wow.” Alistair shook his head in disbelief. “I should have tried this, _years_ ago.”

“Ah, do not concern yourself, _caro mio_ , life is long and we must come to all things when we are ready. The important thing is that you have done it, and will continue to, I hope.”

Aedan rolled off the bed in one swift movement, and went to find a carafe and some goblets. “Damn right. I suggest we have a drink, and work out what’s next. There’s plenty of night ahead of us.”

“Hmm, you have a suggestion?” Zevran accepted his goblet, looking thoughtful.

“Well,” Aedan threw back his first goblet of wine, standing naked next to the bed, “we could go find a few women, mix things up a little. There’s those two women we met up in Highever; they’re here tonight and you know what _they_ like, Zev. They might suit Alistair just fine. What do you think Alistair, would you like to try the other side? Throw a girl over your knee and spank her? Making a woman climax from a spanking alone is a pure pleasure in this grim old world of ours.”

“Or, if you prefer to continue as we are, I have a little strap you may enjoy.” Zevran’s hand stroked over Alistair’s arse-cheek, making him shiver. “Nothing too harsh, you understand, but I think you are ready. Your submission was truly a delight, and I would like to continue your training, if not tonight, then at some future time.”

Alistair felt his spent cock twitch. “Really? You’d like that?” A ray of sunshine broke through the rainclouds of dreary royal functions, and a cold, uncaring wife. If he could have fun just now and then…

Aedan grinned. “Zev loves to be the _padrone_ , and I’m a horribly rebellious submissive. Which is fun in its way - a rather painful way, usually - but it means I’m un-trainable.”

“You are incorrigible, _mio amore_. You make a better _padrone_ , but you are too harsh for such sweet, fresh beauty as this. He would flee from you and not be seen again.” Zevran smiled affectionately at Aedan and stroked Alistair again with exquisite gentleness. “Which would be a shame, as I think you’ll agree.”

Alistair looked from one to the other. “You swap roles?”

Zevran sipped his wine and nodded. “We try anything and everything, _mio caro_ , as should you. But, you must take it slowly, one thing at a time, no?  Patience; life is to be savoured.”

Aedan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. So let’s _pick_ something and have _fun_. The night’s a-wasting.”


End file.
